


a real partnership

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Cold's gone, and Shawna thinks that's the end. Her debt is null and void, if not paid, since there's no one around any more to try and cash in.</p><p>Except, Cold has a sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a real partnership

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissSugarPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSugarPlum/gifts).



Captain Cold disappears off Central City’s radar, and at first Shawna thinks–great. He’s dead, in prison, or living large in Rio, and I don’t owe him shit any more. And then she thinks–maybe I’ll try to make it straight, from here on out.

(That only lasts about as long as it takes for her next rent check to be due; her landlord is a dick, no one’s hiring in this economy, and, frankly, being Peek-a-Boo is too fun of a habit to break anyway.)

Shawna’s sitting on the couch in her underwear and an ancient t-shirt, eating ice cream straight out of the carton and cheering every time Alton Brown makes a pun, when she realizes the depth of her folly in assuming she was free from Snart Influence **™** when Cold dropped off the map. He has (had?) a sister, and she’s meaner, more dramatic, and way, way closer to Shawna’s type, even (or perhaps especially) when she’s standing on the fire escape, knocking on the window with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Nice gams,” she says, when Shawna pops out to join her, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and scowling. “Care to invite me inside?”

Shawna’s scowl deepens. “No. What do you want, Glider?”

Lisa tosses her hair over her shoulder, gaze flicking up thoughtfully. “I want to run the show, now Lenny’s gone and scampered on me.”

“He dead?” Shawna asks. She’d be tactful, but she’s pretty sure Lisa wouldn’t be cracking jokes if he really was.

Lisa rolls her eyes. “He’s too cold-hearted to die,” she says, dismissively. It’s not an answer, but it also kind of is. “But he’s out of the picture for the foreseeable future, and I have some ideas on how to properly capitalize on our combined interests.” She turns, drapes an arm over Shawna’s shoulders, and waves her other hand as if to indicate some broad vista. (All Shawna sees is the brick side of the building on the other side of the alleyway, and her legs are getting cold. Glider better hurry it up.) “See, Lenny just called you rogues in once in a while, leveraging the big favor he did you into a bunch of smaller ones–mildly mutually beneficial heists, just enough to keep you all willing to answer his call every time he made it. I wanna make this thing a real _partnership_.”

Shawna purses her lips. “And you’d want to call the shots, I assume?”

“Believe me when I say, Boo, that _we all_ want me calling the shots.” Glider lets her arm fall away from Shawna, produces a business card from a pocket that Shawna had previously assumed couldn’t _possibly_ actually hold anything, given how tight Glider’s pants are. “Think about it,” she insists, presses the card into the hand that Shawna reluctantly opens. “There’s a time, a date, and an address. The whole ensemble will be there.”

Shawna bites her lip, flips the card around to study the information, and Lisa leans back against the railing, effortlessly casual and gorgeous. “I’ll think about it,” Shawna finally tells her, since Lisa’s obviously waiting for some kind of answer, and Lisa’s lips stretch into a canary-eating grin.

“Wanna give me something to think about, too?” she asks playfully, leaning forward at the waist and winking–

Shawna turns on her heel and pops back into her apartment. That’s a conversation, she tells herself as she viciously stabs her spoon into half-melted turtle tracks, that ought to be had while wearing pants.

*** 

Lisa’s apartment is messier than Shawna expected, blueprints and books and machine bits and wires scattered over most of the flat surfaces. The kitchen table is an exception, likely due to some notion that she’d use it regularly, but the fine layer of dust betrays that pipe dream.

It also smells like pet dander and body odor–although Shawna’s willing to give Lisa the benefit of the doubt on the latter, given that Mark Mardon, James Jesse, Hartley Rathaway, and Axel Walker are all crammed into her living room. Wizard’s turning a bottle cap over and over in one hand, leaning distrustfully against the far wall, and Trickster I’s picking curiously through the detritus on the coffee table while Trickster II peers over his shoulder and attempts to vibrate onto another plane of existence due to excitement.

Piper just looks bored. (Shawna suspects this is his default.)

He’s opening his mouth- to say something undoubtedly snide- when the door swings open one final time. Glider claps her hands together, beaming, and a petite Chinese lady studies the room distrustfully for a moment before settling onto the couch on Baby Trickster’s other side.

“Gang’s all here,” Glider says cheerfully, and Shawna slowly takes a seat next to Piper at the dusty-but-clear kitchen table. He offers her a twizzler; Shawna respectfully declines. “So tell me, ladies and gentlemen–” she sets one (golden, _jesus_ ) doc marten on the coffee table and leans forward, one elbow on her knee, and her eyes glitter with mischief as she asks– “who here is interested in becoming a proper team?”

“What do we get out of it?” Wizard asks. His eyes are hard, his tone harder.

Glider straightens, shrugs. “We’ve all, each of us, individually kept the Flash on his toes a time or two, haven’t we? Imagine what we could do if our minds, our talents, and our ambitions were aligned.” She lets her boot drop, wanders towards Wizard, hands clasped behind her back.

“We’d make a lot of money,” she tells him, coming to a stop a few feet away. Her chin is tilted up so she can meet his eyes, but she’s at no disadvantage–the entire room can feel it, the way her presence commands. Her brother was smart and he had leverage, but Glider has _charisma_.

“We’d have each others’ backs,” she adds, voice surprisingly gentle, and something crosses Wizard’s face that almost looks a little like longing. (The new girl also blinks, chin jerking slightly away to hide a spasm of relief, but Shawna sees it out of the corner of her eye anyway.)

Glider glances over to Trickster’s I and II, mouth quirking up. “And we’d put on a hell of a show,” she promises.

“I’m in,” Trickster I announces, to pretty much nobody’s surprise, but Glider holds up a finger.

“One catch,” she says, somewhat apologetically. “I’d like to instate a ‘no killing’ rule.” Her gaze flicks up to the ceiling, and she tilts her head, amending, “Unless the Flash sticks his goody-two-shoes nose in a little too far.”

That’s… honestly a point in favor of this ridiculousness, in Shawna’s book. Still, she has to ask–

“Why?”

Glider meets her eyes, shoving her hands in her pockets as she purses her lips. “You ever read anything by Terry Pratchett?” she asks. Then she waves a hand, turning slowly on her heel, shaking her head. She paces as she talks, slowly, like she’s never quite put this thought into words before. “Doesn’t really matter. I just think there’s a story here that we’re telling–a story written in spandex and bright colors and witty one-liners, and there’s no room in that story for senseless violence, no room for killing unless we want to be the big bad villains instead of–”

“Lovable Rogues,” Piper cuts in, snorting.

Glider snaps her fingers, making a finger gun at him and winking. “Exactly.”

*** 

“Quick, catch that cat; it stole my wallet!” James shrieks, pointing dramatically after McCoy as the cat sprints across Lisa’s apartment. Axel leaps the couch, makes a wild dive for the feline, and only catches a bad case of carpet burn on his bare knees.

Hartley’s in the kitchen, waving his glass as he condescends at Mark, who’s attempting to learn how to cook–a difficult task when your teacher is half a bottle of wine in and a little snooty on the best of days. Linda leans on the counter next to where Hartley’s perched, stealing swigs of wine out of the bottle when he isn’t looking and doing her best to heckle Mark into making it rain indoors.

(She and James have a bet going, or something. Shawna is turning a blind eye, since best friend rules say she should be defending Mark’s honor and self-preservation rules say she should not get between James Jesse and a prank.)

“Let’s get out of here,” Lisa whispers in her ear, hand curling around her hip. She presses against Shawna from behind, and it doesn’t take any imagination to know what thoughts are running through her mind.

“I can’t believe you invited these hooligans into your home,” Shawna mutters, lets her head drop back to rest on Lisa’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you actually wanted this to happen. What were you thinking?”

“There was a cute pants-less girl involved,” Lisa muses, gradually guiding Shawna backwards toward the door. “My judgement may have been compromised.”

And you missed Len, Shawna adds mentally. You still have no idea where he went or what he’s been up to, even if you stubbornly refuse to admit he’s dead, and you missed him so much that when you saw a bunch of asshole misfits you somehow imagined they could be your family. (And implausibly, you were right.)

“Cute, huh?” she teases aloud, turns in Lisa’s grip and pulls them to a stop with an arm around Lisa’s waist.

“I meant Linda,” Lisa says, no hesitation. Her hands slide into Shawna’s back pockets. (She squeezes and winks, and Shawna pinches the little strip of skin between her skinny jeans and her tank top in retaliation.)

“Then maybe you should be groping Linda.” Shawna raises an eyebrow, glances over her shoulder. “Linda,” she calls. “Wanna be groped by Lisa?”

“Leave me out of your bickering!” Linda shouts back.

Lisa snickers. “But Linda, my hands are magical!”

“Hartley, save me,” Linda stage whispers.

“Save yourself,” he retorts, tosses back the last bit of wine in his glass and waves a hand imperiously for Linda to pass him the bottle. “I’m busy educating.”

Linda shoots back a comment that Shawna misses as Lisa ducks in, kissing her warmly, and there’s a crash somewhere on the other side of them as Axel and James attempt to scare McCoy out from behind the entertainment unit. Shawna thinks–I can’t remember what life was like before the Rogues; I’m not sure I want to, when it means life before Lisa being my girlfriend and Mark being my best friend, before Linda and Hartley and Axel being obnoxious and adorable by turn, before James Jesse being all of our weird uncle.

And then she thinks–but I _could_ do without the various shouts of “Ew, PDA!” and “Get a room!”


End file.
